The wind blows through Fontaine.
The water is calm, and the heart is calm.
But the murderous intent is hidden in the quiet streets, like a phantom, hidden in the fog.
The traveler stood in front of the Fontaine Adventurer Association. His cloak moved slightly, and his eyes were as calm as a lake. He didn’t belong here, but he walked in here, just like countless prodigals in the rivers and lakes, knowing that there are dangers ahead, but still holding a sword and moving forward.
Catherine smiled and handed over four letters without showing any expression, as ordinary as passing a killing letter in the rivers and lakes.
“Four small things a day,” she said, “after you do them, the city will remember you.”
The traveler took it and said nothing. He was not a talkative person, and those who talk too much would not live long.
The first thing was diving.
It was dark underwater, as dark as a knife in the night. The mechanism was broken and needed to be repaired.
The traveler jumped into the water without hesitation. People in the rivers and lakes are used to facing the darkness.
The device was stuck between the corals, like an old hatred that had been there for many years, and had to be pulled out by hand. He repaired it quickly, his fingers as nimble as a swordsman’s sword. The water washed over his clothes, and he seemed to hear someone laughing softly:
“You are an outsider, why should you care?”
He did not answer. He never did things for answers.
The second thing was to deliver a letter.
Sent it to the court, the route was familiar, turning three times, passing through two alleys, and a secret passage.
Someone blocked the way, two idle phantoms.
He didn’t want to do it, but the phantoms didn’t know what was good. He acted quickly, and the sword shadow was like the wind. The wind passed without a trace, and the enemy fell to the ground.
The letter was delivered. A stern judge took it and nodded.
The city began to remember him.
The third thing was to clear the phantom spirit.
This job was like clearing old accounts. There was no skill, but it had to be ruthless.
Phantom spirits were troubles, but also temptations. The traveler drew his sword and slashed three times in a row, and the phantom spirits dispersed like mist.
He sheathed his sword, his eyes indifferent.
“Why do you do these things?” someone asked.
He didn’t answer.
The fact that he didn’t answer didn’t mean that he didn’t care. He just knew that in the world of martial arts, if a person wanted to be remembered, he had to do something that others would remember.
The fourth thing was to go to the outpost and find an old soldier.
The old soldier was short of supplies, and the supplies were at the dock three miles away. Someone robbed them on the way.
He walked over without changing his face, and after a few moves, only panting was left on the ground.
The old soldier took the supplies, nodded gratefully, and said, “This city owes you one.”
The traveler smiled.
His smile was not gentle, but not cold.
——System prompt: Reputation +1.
In this city, if you do one thing, others may not remember it; if you do ten things, the city will remember you.
Reputation is the “reputation” in the world.
With a reputation, you can buy things half a cent cheaper and walk less. Even the fishmongers on the corner will give you a piece of vanilla.
This is no different from the “face” in the world.
Daily commissions are a test and a contract.
The city is watching you, and you are also watching the city.
Some people only do one day’s work, and some people are willing to do a lifetime of work.
After the traveler finished the task, he stood on the water platform.
In the distance, the water vapor was lingering, and the street lights reflected on the water, floating like a dream.
He suddenly felt that he was not for the reward or the task.
He just wanted to leave a footprint in this city that did not belong to him.
Just like countless swordsmen in the world, they traveled thousands of miles just to leave a silent slash in some unknown place.
Fontaine remained silent.
But the city had remembered him.
—